


with your hand in mine (the world just might be golden)

by second_hand_heaven



Series: Under a Thumb 'verse [1]
Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: AU backstory, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blackmail, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gatsby's past, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mr. McKee is a bit not good, Nick is a damsel in distress, Past Relationship(s), Soft boys are soft, canon up to chapter 4, past prostitute!Gatsby, past sugarbaby!Gatsby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 19:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13417662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_hand_heaven/pseuds/second_hand_heaven
Summary: Nick's night with McKee had been at the back of his mind, until a phone call threatens to oust him. With his... proclivities held to ransom, Nick turns to the only person who can help.Or, the one in which Nick gets blackmailed by Mr McKee and Gatsby saves his sorry (gay) ass.





	with your hand in mine (the world just might be golden)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the 'Under a Thumb 'verse.' Hopefully, this will be one of many Natsby fics to come.
> 
> This AU hinges on the theory that Nick sleeps with Mr McKee in chapter 2 of the novel (which he totally did). It then follows along with the canon, until Gatsby and Nick’s lunch (date) in chapter 4.  
> Nick is so extra, I hope you agree that that's pretty in-character for him. Gatsby is very perceptive and an all-round good guy. Nick is a gay mess. He cries no less than three times in this. What a sap. I love him.
> 
> Also, massive thanks to TantalumCobalt for putting up with my bullshit and beta-ing this piece for me. Any mistakes are mine. And, obviously, I'm not F. Scott Fitzgerald, and therefore I don't own the Great Gatsby or its characters. 
> 
> (For reference, US$1,000 in 1922 would be the equivalent of about US$15,000 - US$17,000 in 2017.)

It was nearing eight when he got the phone call.

_“Good evening, lover,”_ the voice crackled down the line. Nick froze. No no _no_.

"What do you want, McKee?” Nick hissed, “I thought we'd never speak of this."

_“This? Do you mean our night together?”_

“You know damn well I do!”

_“Our illicit, illegal night together?”_

Oh no.

“You're just as involved in it as I was.”

_"Well, I'm a happily married man, forcefully seduced by a dandy.”_

"They'll never believe you.”

_"I've got witnesses, and a few lovely photographs that might persuade a judge..."_

"You wouldn't-"

_"You're right, I wouldn't. Especially if I've been given a reason not to share this insightful information."_

"What do you want?" he grit out between clenched teeth.

_"A thousand dollars by the end of the week."_

"I don't have that kind of money!"

_"Well that sounds like your problem. I'll call again soon, lover,"_ he giggled before hanging up.

Nick stared at the receiver shaking in his hands.

 

He was a fool. A goddamn fool. This wasn't some innocent petting in his neighbour's parlour, or taking a college boy between his thighs. And it wasn't the goddamn army. How could he be so stupid?

He couldn’t risk this... this thing getting out. It would ruin him; his family name, too.

Was this McKee’s plan all along? Could a moment of weakness on Nick's part have been a calculated con?

He had no illusions about that night, about what it would mean for the future, but blackmail?

How would he get that kind of money?

He couldn't phone home about it, he'd already asked enough of his folks with this move out east.

A loan? The bank couldn't get it to him fast enough. And besides, he had nothing to act as collateral.

Tom and Daisy were out of the question, too. Tom was too close to it, and far too stingy. He'd want a payment plan with interest signed in triplicate. And he'd want to know why, which ruled him out completely.

 

He turned toward the Sound, searching for answers in the gentle lap of the waves.

It was stoically quiet, no raucous music played from next door. He hadn't attended another of his neighbour's parties since his first invitation, but he wished for one that night. The music and dancing and alcohol might have been enough to quieten the anxiety broiling within him, if just for a moment. His neighbour, with a brilliant vibrancy and gorgeous smile, could be distraction enough from Nick's own foolishness...

 

Gatsby's silhouette ghosted across the horizon, barely visible at the end of the dock, gilded by the waning evening light.

* * *

 

Lunch with Gatsby was a dazzling affair, but Nick's gut twisted as Gatsby drove him home.

The money was due that night, the drop site given in a daunting follow-up phone call.

It was all he could think about.

He laughed when Gatsby laughed, nodded when he looked his way.

He couldn't remember a word said.

What did they talk about? Finance? The war? Women? _As if,_ Nick smirked to himself. He'd hardly be the one to start _that_ conversation.

 

All too soon, they arrived at Nick’s house. As he slipped from the car and bid Gatsby farewell, a hopelessness anchored itself inside him. This was it. McKee would bring about his ruin.

The edges of his vision faded. He turned back toward the car, tried to call out. His mouth opened and shut feebly.

Nothing came out.

His vision narrowed, focused on Gatsby's hair in the glittering afternoon sun, Gatsby's hand as it reached out for him, Gatsby-

* * *

 

Nick awoke with his shoes missing, tie loosened, and a hand held in his.

The mattress was firm against his back, no divots from where the springs had broken, like his own. Where on Earth was he?

He cracked open an eyelid and a golden face swam into view.

“Gatsby?”

The hand in his gave a gentle squeeze.

“You gave me quite a fright there, old sport. Seems you fainted not five steps from my car. I hope my driving isn't that appalling.” He grinned down at Nick, but it couldn't quite reach his eyes.

 

The guest bedroom was lavish, cream and gold melting upon any given surface. He’d hardly expected any different. The luxury of it all made his head spin. He had to get out of there.

Nick sat up gingerly. Bruises from his fall had already begun to form along his back and thighs. “What time is it?”

“Just after four.”

Panic clawed at his throat. “I need to get home.”

“I must insist you stay here tonight, old sport. Who knows what harm may come of you if I left you to your own devices.”

Nick froze. “I can't.”

Jay frowned at him. "What's the matter, old sport?"

Against his protests, tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. “It's nothing.”

“Nick, what's wrong?”

_Everything_ , he ached to say. Gatsby would make a great interrogator, he thought idly. At the softest of his words, Gatsby compelled the truth from all who listened.

He took a deep breath. "Gatsby, I need a favour.”

"Anything, Nick. Anything you name, you can have it.”

Nick's heart gave a twinge. "I need to borrow a thousand dollars.” His skin crawled as he spoke. To ask so much, after everything… The request tasted vile on his tongue.

"You can have it."

"What?"

"You can have it, old sport. But that doesn't answer my question. What's the matter?"

 

The affection and worry behind Gatsby's words brought a heated flush to Nick's cheeks.

"I've got some pressure on me at present." It was hardly a lie, but it held hardly enough truth to be considered honest.

"You're not a gambling man, are you old sport?"

"No, it's nothing like that." He looked away. Maybe it had been a gamble; a bet on a man's character that hadn't paid off.

There was a hand on his shoulder, warm through his shirt and vest. "Nick…”

He swallowed. "Blackmail."

Gatsby's eyes hardened, mercury turning to steel.

Nick tried and failed to find vague enough words. "He- he's got... compromising photos-"

"Of you and him, I'd presume." Gatsby hit the nail right on the head.

Nick attempted to look offended, shocked even, but exhaustion quashed any attempt at manufacturing emotions. Gatsby's voice was hardly accusing. Nick caught Gatsby's eyes, still harsh with a simmering anger. The soft smile, bittersweet, relaxed Nick, if only slightly. The anger wasn't directed at him.

He brushed away the tears at the corners of Nick's eyes ever-so-softly with his thumbs.

"I'll take care if it, old sport."

‘ _I'll take care of you.’_

* * *

 

Nick woke from a light doze when the bed dipped beside him.

Gatsby was sitting on the side of the bed, fully dressed in his day-wear despite the late hour. A crease had worked itself between his eyebrows.

“How are you feeling, old sport?”

“Much better.” At Nick’s attempted smile, the crease in Gatsby's brow had been ironed flat. Gatsby's own smile returned.

With a hesitancy so unlike himself, Gatsby reached out a hand toward Nick's face. Golden fingers traced his cheekbones, stroked through his hair.

“Gatsby?” He curled toward Jay's warmth with a question on his lips. “Why are you helping me?” He could think of no other way in which to phrase it.

 

The man hummed his acknowledgement and continued his ministrations in an attempt to find the right words.

"I knew a man once. A few weeks after I left Oxford. By then I was -working, you'd say. For gentlemen with money and a particular persuasion. This man, he offered me a sort of stability. He paid me handsomely to treat him handsomely. Exclusively.

“I was under his thumb, but I needed the money. He took me to parties as his concierge, gave me a new name, taught me the ways of the rich. He became, or perhaps I started to see his truth: a vicious man, jealous and foul tempered. He wouldn't let me out of his sight, spun into a jealous rage whenever I met with a lady. Oh and when he found out about _her_... "

The tumble of words halted. Gatsby's breath was caught by the past he fought so viciously to evade. His hand stilled mid-stroke.

Nick reached up, caught Gatsby's hand between his own, and held it with a comforting ferocity.

"I snapped."

"You killed him."

It was hardly a question, but Gatsby's still breathed out, "yes."

The admission scared Nick less than it should. He should have been running from the room, leaving that place and phoning the police. He should have let go of Gatsby's hand. He couldn't, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

"That's where Wolfsheim fits in. He helped cover it up, in exchange for a few years service. Just like the army," he scoffed, as if it were a joke that Nick wasn't clued in on. "Bootlegging, old sport, is far from a wonderful business venture. But I needed the money for her. I had a debt to settle."

"And now?"

"And now I'm a man who's only under God's thumb, if that. As any man should be.”

 

The panic struck him fiercely yet again. "Gatsby, if I don't pay him, he's going to-"

He gave Nick's hand a gentle squeeze. "I won't let that happen to you, old sport. I promise you that. I'll take care of it."

Gatsby pressed a kiss to Nick's hand in his, before retiring for the night. Nick's eyes fluttered shut with the warmth of Gatsby's lips lingering on his knuckles.

* * *

 

In the morning, Nick found Gatsby on the patio overlooking the Sound. His broad shoulders looked more relaxed than ever within the confines of his white linen suit jacket.

 

A breakfast spread was laid out across the table, but Nick's stomach was knotted. He sat adjacent to Gatsby, whose eyes hardly strayed from Nick's face.

"You and I, we're more alike than when we first met. Or maybe we've been the same the whole time. Under a thumb is no place for us. Mr McKee won't be bothering you anymore."

"You didn't-" He looked away. He couldn't bring himself to say it.

Gatsby seemed unfazed by the accusation. "He's got a thousand dollars and two train tickets to Boston- one way, of course."

"Gatsby, I-" he paused, looking down, "I can never repay you for this."

"You needn't worry, old sport,” Jay said with a chuckle, “you already have."

Nick gaped at him.

"You gave me the chance to exorcise my own demons while doing the same to yours. It was…  cathartic.”  

The knot in Nick's stomach unravelled, a soft warmth growing in its place.

“You know, I was going to ask you to set me a date with your cousin Daisy."

"I can still help you with that, if you'd like,” Nick pleaded without the words, eyes wide and desperate.

"No, I don't think so."

 

Nick's face fell and landed somewhere in his breakfast. "Oh." Gatsby was wiping his hands clean of him, surely. Nick could hardly blame him. He'd asked too much of Gatsby already, he couldn't ask to remain at his side, too. Oh, but hope was vile thing. It gnawed at his insides as equally as despair, and twice as unlikely to let go.

"Nick. Nick, look at me.” His tone insisted. “I don't want that anymore."

Nick searched his face, unsure of what he'd find. "What?"

"I wanted Daisy to prove I'd left my past behind. Attain the goal, move on, like she was a trophy. I don't want that anymore."

Optimism washed over him. He pushed the subject, emanating the hopefulness of the man across from him. "Then what do you want, Jay?"

"I don't know, old sport. It's quite refreshing, really." Gatsby's grin dazzled in the soft morning light. Nick's heart fluttered at the sight. "Well, maybe there is something."

"Yes?"

 

Gatsby reached across the short space between them, linking his fingers with Nick's on the table. “Come to dinner with me tonight?”

Nick drew their joined hands to his face, cupping his jaw in Gatsby's palm. He leant into the touch, watching as Gatsby's eyes widened. His hopefulness, the sheer beauty of it, brought tears to Nick's eyes.

“I'd love to.”

 

_FIN_

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this sap. There's certainly more where that came from.  
> Comments and kudos are more than welcome.  
> Come chat with me on my tumblr [here](https://second-hand-heaven.tumblr.com/)  
> -Nova


End file.
